Conflict
by ardavenport
Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi are the appointed deliverers of an ancient punishment for an old crime.
1. Chapter 1

**CONFLICT**

by ardavenport

**- - Part 1**

Secretary Pintor struck the door seal with the blue crystalline head of his staff.

The circular seal activated, glowing yellow under the outer edges before the center symbols blazed bright white. A low gong sounded. The doors parted slowly. More than an arm's length in thickness they rumbled back into the wall. Obi-Wan Kenobi could feel the vibration in the floor through his boots.

Staff held high, Secretary Pintor moved forward, his shimmering blue cape trailing behind him. The two Jedi followed.

"This is the Chamber of Punishment," their guide announced, his high voice carrying in the large space. Obi-Wan looked about, peering at the room from under his hood. Nearby, his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, did the same, slowly walking toward the perimeter, arms tucked into the opposite sleeves of his concealing robe.

Colorless artificial light spilled out from under covers on the ceiling high above. Even, neutral lighting that allowed few shadows. The rough gray walls, minimally decorated with only a columned pattern, looked as solid as the door. And just as impenetrable. Nothing lived in this room. No one and nothing wanted to stay in this place. He looked toward his Master and knew that the older man sensed it, too.

"How will the ceremony proceed?" Qui-Gon asked, not looking at the secretary; his eyes continued scanning the room from under his dark brown hood.

"The judges will enter first," Pintor began, assuming a position near the center of the room while the Jedi continued to move around the perimeter. "With escorts." Pintor's black pantsuit stretched over the rounded parts of his belly and stumpy legs, his blue cape pooled around his large rounded feet.

He pointed a stubby finger down the length of the room on the right side of the entry door at a row of chairs on a raised platform .

"You will enter next, with escorts, and stand on either side of the judges," Pintor continued.

"May we be in the chamber when the ceremony begins?" Qui-Gon asked, "here." He pointed at a recess opposite the door. "And there." He pointed at a matching recess just to the left of the door.

Surprised, Pintor looked from recess to recess, his three gold and blue star-burst eyes wide, his mane of white hair fluffed.

"Of course, if you wish. This whole proceeding is unprecedented. Our government has no objection to accommodating any changes you might need. So long as the sentence is carried out. Quickly." Pintor pressed his heavy lips together, turned away and began marching away from the judges' chairs. His cloak swished on the floor in his wake.

"Here." He pointed at rows of stone benches on the judges' right. "The witnesses and the wronged will come in next and be seated here. There will be guards at the doors, behind the judges, the witnesses. . . ."

The secretary tuned toward the end of the room opposite the judge and dipped his staff toward a brightly lit medical table fixed to a raised area, a few steps higher than the rest of the floor.

"The condemned will enter last, face the judges and be escorted there. By yourselves." Pintor glanced first to Qui-Gon, then to Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon inclined his head in return. Obi-Wan did nothing. His Master would speak for both of them.

"As has been agreed, you will conduct the punishment that will be performed by the droid. To preserve the diplomatic immunity of the representatives of the Galactic Republic, only the Galactic Republic with deliver the punishment. We will not interfere or assist in any way. No matter how well . . . . or badly it goes." Pintor's three eyes looked hard at Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan sensed worry from the secretary.

"It will go well," Qui-Gon assured him.

The texture of Pintor's worry changed from the future to the present, directed at the ominous dark-robed figure standing over him.

"If you have seen everything you need, may I escort you back to rejoin your ambassador, until you are needed? We have a place for you to wait."

"We would like a moment alone here to review tonight's events."

Pintor turned from one to the other Jedi before answering.

"Of course. I will be waiting outside in the atrium. Take as much time as you need." He hurried out.

The enormous door remained open, but there was no one else around, not even guards. Qui-Gon pushed the hood of his robe back off his head, his long hair falling down over his shoulders.

Pushing his own hood back, Obi-Wan looked all around the room, floor, ceiling, walls. It was built like a fortress, large and imposing, made of oppressive stone and duracreet that could crush the fragile bodies of the living with its weight.

Qui-Gon went to the medical table. He laid his hands on its black metaloid surface while Obi-Wan looked from one to the other of the recesses where Qui-Gon wanted them to stand.

"You will position yourself by the door, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan's eyes followed his Master's gesture toward one of the recesses.

"I will be opposite you."

"Why should we be here when the officials arrive?"

"Palorus Kremis was tried in a joint Republic/Kraytor court in absentia. While he knows the verdict and has appealed it for some time, he does not know of the agreement between the Kraytor System and the Republic about his punishment. And that the Jedi have agreed to deliver it to preserve the pretense of diplomatic immunity," Qui-Gon finished with a tone of displeasure.

"We will approach Kremis only when called upon. I will take advantage of his surprise to influence him to go to the droid and accept his punishment. You will follow. If my influence is successful, or if he has relented and accepted his fate, then we will need to do no more than that. But if he resists. . . . . I will strike. He will not be given the chance to refuse. And you must be prepared to at the first opportunity if I am unsuccessful."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said quietly.

"This must be done quickly. This case has dragged out in the courts for years. All parties are weary of it and eager for a resolution."

"Even Kremis?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Yes," Qui-Gon affirmed. "Though the outcome he has been seeking is no longer available for him."

Past his Master, Obi-Wan noticed heavy straps hanging from the black metaloid struts of the medical table, the angular outlines showing up strongly against the gray stone wall.

"The Force will guide your hand, if necessary, but do not anticipate. You will know, if the time comes."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan nodded solemnly. He was sure it would. But Qui-Gon did not reply; he went back to examining the medical table, running his fingers over its smooth, slatted surface.

"You are disturbed by our mission," Obi-Wan stated. Qui-Gon only glanced his way before his attention returned to what his hand touched.

"This is a mission of vengeance. That is not the Jedi way."

"Is it not the Jedi way to make peace, to obey the Council's orders?"

"This mission will bring little peace. But it is our way to obey the Council." Qui-Gon let his hand fall down to his side and turned to Obi-Wan. "Palorus Kremis's punishment will not reverse any of his crimes. It will bring no material benefit or comfort to his victims. And it cannot be expected to bring about any revelation or repentance from Kremis. It is only for the sake of base vengeance."

"We are only the intermediaries. Here to settle the dispute. It is not our vengeance."

"Do not deceive yourself that we are separate from this, my young Padawan, just because we are only following the Council's orders. We are made part of the Kraytor vengeance on Kremis by our actions alone. And I find that disturbing."

"You did not say so at the mission briefing."

"No," Qui-Gon agreed with an exhale. "There would be no point. If not us, others would be sent to bring what little peace is possible to this situation. The conflict would remain," Qui-Gon acknowledged, leaving the medical table, descending the three steps to the floor.

"Sometimes, the ways of the Jedi conflict. We must all find our way through them," Qui-Gon finished wearily. "Come."

Qui-Gon led them out of the lifeless Chamber of Punishment. They put up the hoods of their robes again and folded their arms before them. Side by side, they made their way back through the halls to the atrium of the Justice Building. The few passers by who noticed them looked hastily away.

"Master Jedi", Pintor turned to them immediately. Obi-Wan recognized the two judges with him, dressed in ordinary pants and tunics, working clothes, standing with the secretary. Both of them accepted the Jedi's silent bows with wary nods.

Nobody said anything.

The noises of the usual daytime activities of the workers at the Justice building echoed around them.

"Hmmrrrph." Pintor cleared his throat. "Ambassador Zimpot will join us in a moment. Judge Cremostor and Judge Itor have no objection to you being present in the room before the proceedings begin. The droid will be in the room as well. We will summon you when we begin the preparations. The proceeding will be at sunset."

"Thank-you." Qui-Gon answered politely.

Nobody said anything again.

The two judges exchanged worried three-eyed glances. Obi-Wan stayed still. Feeling Qui-Gon's disinterest in any social interaction, he followed that example. A familiar jingling sound approached, but Obi-Wan remained as unconcerned as his Master.

"Ambassdor Zimpot!" Pintor exclaimed, clearly relieved. "We were just discussing this evening's business with Master Qui-Gon here. He has found the arrangement satisfactory and we will summon him and his apprentice when we are ready."

"Good," Ambassador Zimpot graciously returned the Jedi's bows, her headdress, jacket and wide belt over her curvy hips jingled with bright gold bangles with every motion. "We will be waiting in Judge Turgotor's offices until we are needed. If you will come with me, Master Jedi, I will show you the way."

Zimpot briskly walked off. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon followed.

**- - End Part 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**CONFLICT**

by ardavenport

**- - Part 2**

Zimpot and her two aides jingled with every step. One aide wore a yellow coat decorated with long chains down its length; the other wore coppery bangles on his tan boots and arm bracers. All three of them wore outfits made from soft textured cloth, their face paint complimenting the colors of they wore, fashionable for Coruscant, but odd for this grim occasion.

They went to a row of lifts and entered an empty car. Except for the various jingles from the three diplomats, they rode up several levels in silence and exited into a softly lighted reception area of plush blue chairs and thick carpets. The droid at the desk acknowledged them as they passed and entered a large windowless office.

"You can wait here," Zimpot gestured at the padded furnishing and refreshment laid out on a central table. "The fresher's over there." She pointed at a pale green door. "You can sit back, have something to eat while you wait."

"Thank-you." Qui-Gon inclined his head toward her.

Nobody said anything.

Zimpot cocked her head, her bangles tinkling, her long cascade of auburn curls falling over one shoulder.

"I've never dealt with Jedi before, but I know plenty of people who have. I don't remember any of them mentioning that they were this uncommunicative."

"I do not believe that this mission is a good opportunity for socializing," Qui-Gon replied, his voice polite and neutral.

Her lips puckering, Zimpot narrowed her painted eyes at him. A diplomat of middle years, she was experienced and confident. She had tried to engage them in conversation and Qui-Gon had brushed her aside each time. He sensed Zimpot trying to evaluate them by their responses and her growing frustration when she got so little in return. Her aides had given Obi-Wan several glances; they were both Humanoid and looked about the same age as he, early twenties. But Qui-Gon had remained a barrier to any informal talk.

"I suppose you're right," Zimpot finally agreed. "The sooner this is done, the better. And it had better be done right. I don't want to find out now that Jedi capabilities are over-rated."

"They are not, Ambassador," Qui-Gon told her, a little sternly.

Zimpot smirked, apparently pleased to have gotten a reaction.

"I and my assistants are going to dress and prepare for the proceedings. Pintor will send someone when he needs you. And if he doesn't, I will. I leave you and your apprentice to prepare on your own." Her eyes flicked to each of them before she turned and left. The closing door cut off the jingling sounds of their leaving.

Qui-Gon sighed and pushed the hood of his robe back. Obi-Wan did the same.

Going to the refreshments and picking up a clear cylinder of juice, Qui-Gon poured a small amount into a drinking cup. He sniffed, drank a little and poured more for himself. Obi-Wan looked over the tray of food, all finger snacks common to the Core worlds of the Republic, presumably imported for off-world guests. He ate a few crackers and Qui-Gon poured juice for him as well. It was tart and tasty of a very generic berry flavor.

"Should we be so aloof?" Obi-Wan finally asked. "Ambassador Zimpot is trying to be supportive."

"It is not within her power to support us in this. And it is best for her position here to not be seen being too friendly with us." Qui-Gon sipped his juice and picked up a grain stick. "This mission is best done quickly. Success will be measured by our efficiency alone."

Obi-Wan nodded. They continued to sample the snacks in silence, standing at the central table until the food lost its appeal. Qui-Gon laid his cup aside and went to a sofa by the wall. He returned with two bulging pillows that he dropped on the floor.

"We shall meditate here, until we are needed."

They sat down facing each other. When Qui-Gon held his hands up Obi-Wan responded, pressing his palms to his Master's.

"The Force flows through a Jedi," Qui-Gon began.

Obi-Wan breathed in. And exhaled. Slowly. He closed his eyes. As his ordinary senses retreated, his awareness in the Force expanded. To the dimensions of the room around them, the halls and other offices beyond it. To the hazy impressions of people pursuing their daily activities in the Justice Building. And beyond all that was their mission.

Obi-Wan felt nothing for Palorus Kremis. But his actions . . . . .he had admitted his deeds, but denied they were crimes, and that a Republic diplomat was separate from local law anyway. Appointed as a deputy ambassador by Ambassador's Zimpot's predecessor, Kremis had used his position to intimidate and abuse the locals employed by the embassy, both emotionally and sexually. Strong and charismatic, Kremis kept his victims silent and submissive for a long time. But eventually his expanding appetite for personal oppression made its discovery inevitable.

The resulting scandal had caused a complete turnover of the Republic Embassy on Kraytor. Most of the shamed diplomats and personnel had pleaded guilty to criminal negligence and were shipped back to the Republic in disgrace, the staff droids confiscated and destroyed by the Kraytor. But throughout the whole mess Kremis remained defiant.

The Republic had found itself in the hideous position of defending a vile abuser in the name of preserving diplomatic immunity. The Kraytor, still desiring good relations with the Republic, had wanted to wipe the whole scandal away as quickly as possible, but the continued public outrage, like heat from warm coals, and Kremis's open lack of remorse had forced them to demand significant retribution. An ancient penalty that was illegal in the Republic.

Both governments had stalled with negotiations while Kremis persistently demanded to be repatriated back to the Galactic Republic, which did not want him until the Kraytor were satisfied. His political connections made a pardon an unlikely but still real possibility.

The details of their mission briefing occupied the reality of Obi-Wan's meditation. But now it flowed with his Master's disquiet.

Vengeance. Not the Jedi way. But they were now part of it, a darkness that blazed bright in memory. . . .

. . . . wrongs that never healed. Hatreds that entwined the mind with fantasies of revenge that would never be satisfied. Lusts for quick, physical violence, bones crunching, limbs twisting, teeth sinking into flesh. . . . .

Old memories, not Obi-Wan's own, lay scattered around them, colorless and detached by the passing of many years, but still alive. Qui-Gon, who had been a Master before Obi-Wan was even born, drew in a stream of discarded memories, their stings disarmed and discarded long ago, but random traces of the anger and hatred flashed. . . . .

. . . . a mob beating an unlucky Gran, stomping on the body, pulped and shredded, smeared on the pavement. . . . .

. . . . a magistrate cruelly enjoying ordering a whole family split up and shipped to separate worlds for the crimes of two sons. . . .

. . . . a lawyer, shrieking at a politician, whose path to power lay through the wreckage of the lives she had betrayed. . . .

The long gone past drifted around Obi-Wan; he felt new and untried, naively earnest without depth. He did not wish for hardship, but he knew he was incomplete without experience. A wordless counsel of patience came to him from his Master, calming his ambition. He would live his own crises in their own time.

The past dissipated around them, leaving only their mission again. . . .

. . . .Palorus Kremis, a handsome, older humanoid. Used to getting his own way. Charming, confident, funny. Seductive. He made his victims love him before making them suffer. He bound them to him with their own emotions, made more intense by the conflicts of pleasure and pain. It was a very long time before three of them, driven past despair, betrayed Kremis.

A blue lightsaber blade hissed into life. A blazing, vertical beam of light cast the features of Palorus Kremis into sharp, angular shadows, the skin unnatural and waxy.

Kremis smiled, extending a hand, murmuring reasonable words of regret and easy promises of atonement.

The lightsaber blade slashed downward.

"Aaaaaaaaah!!!"

Obi-Wan's body went rigid with the sensation of the cut. Blue-white light blazed in his vision, the pain blotting out everything else. Hot, burning, searing, it shot up his spine and through his legs, every nerve ignited from the point of contact. Eyes snapping open, Obi-Wan gasped for breath.

Qui-Gon Jinn's intense blue eyes stared back at him. Through him. His Master's hands curled around his, fingers digging down into the backs of Obi-Wan's hands. He hardly felt the pressure through the exquisite pain.

Smaller fingers closed around the larger hands. Still gasping, Obi-Wan pressed forward with each exhale, trying to expel the pain, his body shuddering, awash with agony, every nerve in his lower body alight. Qui-Gon remained a solid and immobile barrier for him to push against. Obi-Wan clutched his hands tighter, harder. Qui-Gon returned his grip.

Throwing his head back, Obi-Wan finally felt the pain reach its height and crest, releasing him. His teeth clinched, he sucked air in, hissing, and then, his mouth open wide, he exhaled the pain out, a long protracted sigh into the Force. Relief flowed down over him like warm rain. He swayed, still holding onto his Master for support. Seeking out Qui-Gon's eyes in gratitude, he found them closed in silent, private relief.

Obi-Wan had thought that his Master had remained separate from his experience. But his reaction had only been more controlled, self-contained. Qui-Gon's eyes slowly blinked open, his expression unfocused and spent

Their raised hands still clasped tightly between them, they looked at each other with a shared knowledge of what the vision meant.

Palorus Kremis would not go quietly to his punishment.

**- - End Part 2**


	3. Chapter 3

**CONFLICT**

by ardavenport

**- - Part 3**

They breathed together, the Force settling around them. They relaxed, but their hands remained clasped, magnifying their renewing strength and calm. After a long time they separated, each rising and going to the fresher in turn.

Casting a disconsolate glance toward the refreshment table, Obi-Wan grimaced and looked away. Neither of them wanted anything more, appetite and thirst suppressed by a new tension. The Kraytor were coming for them; they both sensed it. Qui-Gon put his hood up and folded his arms before him, the long sleeves and folds of his robe covering nearly everything. Obi-Wan did the same and they faced the entryway together.

The doors slid open and two expressionless guards in painted red and yellow body armor marched in, turned, separated and stepped back.

A security commander strode in and, conspicuously staying a few paces away from them, loudly announced that their presence was required for the final disposition of the prisoner and convicted criminal. The two Jedi silently bowed back to her. She waited a few awkward seconds, clearly expecting a verbal reply, her three eyes looking from one to the other brown hoods. Then she snapped back into formal posture. She whirled around, her formal red uniform snapping with the crisp movement, and marched out. The Jedi glided after her. The escort guards followed.

The average working sounds in the justice building had died down. Small crowds of people across the atrium and on overhead walkways watched the procession, some whispering together.

They went back the way they had come. Armored guards stood at attention at intervals along the halls, gold and blue star-burst eyes rigidly fixed forward.

A knot of people waited outside the Chamber of Punishment**,** among them Zimpot, now dressed in deep, velvety blue that hung from shoulders to floor, covering her body entirely. Her aides, dressed in a similarly somber blue and a small troop of gray and blue uniformed Republic security formed their own little group in the gathering crowd.

Secretary Pintor stepped up to them. He now wore dark maroon tunic and pants, trimmed with sparkling red jewels. Three jewels, one over each eye, glinted from his forehead. He pointed his staff at the Chamber door. The seal activated, the doors rumbled open, but only part way. Pintor nodded toward them. The Jedi silently entered while the others stayed back. The doors closed behind them.

They were alone. Except for the droid. It was black with thin limbs and a barrel body. Two yellow eye-sensors on a long cylindrical head watched them. Waiting beside the medical table, it whirred and clicked, acknowledging their presence, but said nothing. It had come with them. Delivered from the Republic specifically for this one task. It would be destroyed and melted down when its job was finished.

Qui-Gon assumed his place and Obi-Wan took his. They faced each other and waited.

People and tension gathered outside.

Finally, the doors opened again, slowly parting all the way. A gong sounded, filling the empty space in the Chamber. More guards marched in, red and yellow. They took their places by the door. Seven judges followed, some in white, some in pale blue tunics and pants. Their white hair fluffed high over their bejeweled foreheads. They took their seats.

The gong sounded again.

More guards marched in, and then the witnesses. Most of them were Kraytor, Pintor among them. There were a few non-natives, all Humanoids like Zimpot. But both Kraytor and Humanoid eyes brimmed with anger, mourning, hate and heartbreak. Many in the same individuals. Obi-Wan's throat tightened, feeling some of them drowning in the conflicting emotions.

The gong sounded again.

Palorus Kremis, surrounded by seven conspicuously muscular and armored guards entered. Surrounded, but unbound, he strode in, his back straight, the simple cream colored prison tunic hanging loosely over his trim frame. The lines on his face were deeper, sharper than in his holos. Stronger, slimmer, harder than the privileged diplomat he had been, Kremis bore his captivity well.

The center judge, in pristine white, edged with bright ice-like jewels, his forehead sparkling, took up a tall ebony staff. An enormous faceted crystal at its head flashed blue-white fire.

The gong sounded three times.

"Palorus Kremis, you are brought here to receive your much deserved punishment for crimes so vile they should not be named. Abuse of soul. Abuse of body. Perversion of yourself and the corruption of mind of others. Your judges and victims are here to see your fate." The jurist's words rang with contained outrage. Though there was no connection between the judges and anyone involved in Kremis's crimes, righteous anger poured out from them. Soon their lust of justice would be fed and they craved that satisfaction.

"And I will add," the senior judge continued, "that your total lack of remorse for your actions, and your arrogance has cruelly drawn out and compounded your offenses. For years." The judge glared, his three starburst eyes blazing, but Obi-Wan saw Kremis's posture remain relaxed, an attitude of superiority. There would be no admission of guilt.

"And you are quite frankly the most despicable and evil being I have ever met," the judge finished.

"What say you, Palorus Kremis?"

Kremis bowed his head briefly. Then he looked away, craning his neck to look around him, at his guards, over his shoulder toward his victims, a knowing smile curling his thin lips. Many witnesses cringed, turning away from that penetrating stare and falsely friendly face. A couple Kraytor leaned toward the prisoner with fear and desire combined.

Obi-Wan looked forward, past Kremis. His eyes pointed only toward their mission, his collar dampened with sweat. The air felt close and heavy under the shadow of his hood.

The center judge rapped the base of his staff on the floor. Kremis broke off his long, visual caress of the other people in the room and turned back to the head of the room.

"I have nothing to say to you, Judge Cramtor. You have made your decision. Nothing I say will change that. Or you."

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan moved out of their recesses. Cramtor snarled, not noticing them positioning themselves behind Kremis.

"You have earned your fate!" The judge swept his staff before him, the crystal flashing white-blue light. The guards withdrew, stepping back several paces.

Qui-Gon approached.

"It is time," he said quietly, but the sound carried to everyone in the room.

Kremis whirled, his body crouched, his face turned up in shock.

"You've known this has been coming. Everyone is watching. We don't want to do this badly."

Kremis's features went slack, staring up into the hood of the robe he suddenly found behind him. Over him.

Qui-Gon extended his hand and Kremis took it, letting himself be pulled up. The shorter man continued to stare, his eyes following Qui-Gon's as he moved to Kremis's side. The Force smothered the arrogance, the conceit. Smiling, Qui-Gon slid his arm around the entranced man and guided him toward the other end of the room. The witnesses stared, mouths open, their heads slowly turning, following the two.

Obi-Wan stayed back and then followed. Just out of arm's reach.

Halfway across the room, Kremis regained his own focus. His steps faltered. Obi-Wan sensed it; Kremis had seen the droid. His thoughts escaping from under Qui-Gon's control, his shoulders tensed, though Qui-Gon's arm remained relaxed.

"This is your sacrifice," Qui-Gon said, reassuring and sensible. "When this is done, they will all come to you. Offer themselves to you. For your sacrifice." The words pulled on Kremis, but he resisted.

Obi-Wan sensed it; Kremis had known that Jedi would be sent. Someone had told him.

He took another step with Qui-Gon.

And another.

Closer to the droid and the medical table.

Kremis dropped to the floor. Halfway down, he thrust an elbow to the side, aimed at Qui-Gon's groin. But the brown robe concealed Qui-Gon's body, spoiling Kremis's aim. Crouching, Qui-Gon caught the blow easily and trapped Kremis's arm with his own.

Kremis twisted around, trying to pull out of Qui-Gon's grip. He pushed outward, keeping his feet under him, arching his back.

The positioning was perfect.

Obi-Wan's lightsaber hissed alive, the blue-white plasma beam slashing horizontally. Then he pivoted, his saber blade slicing upward, deflecting a blaster bolt fired so closely at his back that the ricochet hit the weapon muzzle which exploded and flew to the side.

"Aaauuuggghhh!" The guard dropped to his knees, clutching his hand.

Qui-Gon's bright green lightsaber joined Obi-Wan's, defending against the other guard who had drawn her weapon.

The lightsaber hum filled the room around them with its deadly warning. Her three star-burst eyes fearfully staring back at the shadows under Qui-Gon's hood, the second guard very slowly backed away from the tip of the glowing green blade under her chin. Behind the guards, three of the witnesses stood frozen, weapons held uselessly in their hands. Half of the judge stood, their mouths agape.

Kremis screamed.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!"

The sound shattered the moment. Guards ran up and seized their comrades who had tried to attack the Jedi. Others grabbed the three witnesses who had tried to join them. They pushed back other witnesses who had jumped to their feet. Voices of shock and anger expanded into any spaces not filled by Kremis's horrible screams.

The lightsaber blades vanished.

Qui-Gon spun, catching Kremis under one arm. Obi-Wan caught him under the other. They lifted him up and carried him upright all the way to medical table. The Force strong between them, they hardly felt the injured man's weight at all.

Shrieking and howling, Kremis began to kick and thrash his arms wildly as he was lowered, but the activated table straps shot over his body, pinning him. Qui-Gon captured his arms, holding them down until they were restrained. Then he grabbed a leg while Obi-Wan took the other. More restraint straps zipped and clicked into place. They creaked, the table vibrated with the man's frenzied effort to get away.

The Jedi stepped back.

The droid glided forward, a long needle projecting from one black arm. It went in. The screaming died down into sobs and moans.

Obi-Wan turned back to the room. Qui-Gon did the same. Standing before opposite ends of the medical table, the two Jedi folded their arms before them.

Everyone had moved again. The attackers were gone. Some of the guards had corralled the witnesses, herding them toward the open door. Others flanked the judges who had crossed the room, Ambassador Zimpot's deep blue robes among the pale ones.

"Is it done?" Judge Itor, in pale blue, demanded.

Behind him, Obi-Wan heard the droid whirring, but he did not turn to look. He could smell burnt fabric. Burnt flesh. Both familiar to his senses. But he felt queasy and hugged his arms too closely to his body to hide his shaking.

He had let go of the pain of his vision; he had felt prepared for what he would need to do. But the screaming filled his head, the pressure building into a headache. One of the witnesses struggled against the guards, crying, shouting, pleading to be allowed to stay, that Kremis needed her. The wailing receded as the guards carried her out and down the hallway.

"Is it done?!" Judge Cramtor shouted. The anger and spite echoed inside Obi-Wan's head, a throbbing pressure behind his eyes. He tasted acid in the back of his throat.

More whirring from the droid. Then it stopped and swivelled its head up again.

"While there are burns around the affected area, they can be treated and will heal properly; Palorus Kremis's testicles have been completely removed, the point of injury cauterized. He is castrated."

**- - End Part 3**


	4. Chapter 4

**CONFLICT**

by ardavenport

**- - Part 4**

Cramtor sighed, dropping his staff and rocking forward in relief. Two other judges raised their arms above their heads in praise of the news. The others just glared their triumph at the stricken man, their eyes gleaming righteously.

Obi-Wan fell forward onto his knees and vomited down onto the steps. He wished he hadn't eaten and he was glad the hood of his robe concealed his face.

The prisoner's agony passed, familiar to Obi-Wan's years of training. But the reek of the judges hating Kremis clung to him. His revulsion bypassed his brain, going straight into his body. His head ached, his body convulsed.

The loathing of the witnesses was worse, going deeper to places that would not heal for them. Every day Kremis claimed their thoughts. They despised Kremis, but they never left him; he never left them. Some of them had still craved Kremis's attention, and feared losing it so much that they had attempted a last-minute and futile rescue. And they hated themselves for it now.

Trying to find his way, Obi-Wan reached for the Force. It was there, beyond the storm of emotions around him, inside him.

"My honorable judges, is this finished?" Zimpot shouted, her shout clear and strong, from a diplomat used to commanding with her voice. Obi-Wan's trembling lessened; he felt his place in the room, the attention of the judges leaving him for a new distraction. Kremis's anguish became muddier with the drugs. Obi-Wan spit onto the mess on the floor, clearing his mouth.

Amidst the rumblings of outrage, Cramtor's voice called out, "We are finished. Take him with you. We do not need to speak of this anymore. The ways between us are finally clear." Obi-Wan heard a shuffle of movement.

A hand hovered over him. Qui-Gon. The Force became clear around Obi-Wan, cool and renewing as if they were suddenly outside, breathing clean air. The hand touched his head, then his back. Obi-Wan gratefully breathed in the new strength that replaced his headache.

Booted feet ran in, toward them and around them. Things clacked and snapped with metallic efficiency behind them. Kremis moaned and muttered.

A small hand probed under his arm, then a soft shoulder followed. Qui-Gon grasped his other arm.

"We're leaving," Zimpot said.

Obi-Wan glimpsed the shocked expressions of the Kraytor judges before his hood fell back down over his face as Qui-Gon and Zimpot lifted him. The righteousness in the room seemed less certain, less confident. Qui-Gon initially supported most of Obi-Wan's weight as he stumbled only once as they passed the officials at a brisk pace. Zimpot's smaller, rounder body still dragged him along even after he had regained his footing and hurried with them. Others carrying Kremis and the droid jogged behind them.

They hurried through the hallways, feet pounding hard on the stone floors. Obi-Wan saw nothing under his hood; the others knew where they were going. If anyone watched their undiplomatic retreat, they made no sound. They had planned a quick exit, though a less dramatic one.

Large doors opened before them. Slightly brightening with reflected twilight, the ground went from polished stone to rough gray duracreet. Their group hustled down steps to a landing platform, back to one of the large transports they had arrived in. Zimpot let go of him and shouted orders for them to return to the spaceport before disappearing into a forward compartment. Qui-Gon thrust Obi-Wan through a rear door. He threw back his hood and scrambled over the plush seat to make room for his Master. The door slid closed behind Qui-Gon, sealing them in. Fresh air circulators quietly hummed. Acceleration pushed them into the long seat with the transport's take-off.

Qui-Gon reached forward to the refreshment compartment, retrieved a crystal goblet of cool water and handed it to Obi-Wan who gratefully accepted and took a sip. The towers of the city whizzed by through the narrow, tinted windows of the VIP cabin. Their sumptuous surroundings seemed wildly inappropriate now. Through the forward window, they saw Zimpot speaking on a com and gesturing to the driver. Putting his water in a recessed holder, Obi-Wan sat back letting the peace and quiet around them sink in.

They were done.

"You acted well, my Padawan." Qui-Gon said, pushing his hood back and placing a hand on his shoulder. Obi-Wan nodded. As it was when time was shorter than the body's ability to react, the Force alone had guided his hand, the slash of his blade, the fiery cut to Kremis's body. The punishment had been perfectly executed.

"The Force was with me," he answered without much enthusiasm.

"And now?" Qui-Gon persisted.

Obi-Wan unhappily slumped. He felt used. His thirst for experience had run dry.

"I am conflicted," he admitted. "Vengeance is not the Jedi way."

"No." Qui-Gon slumped next to him. "It is not."

Obi-Wan's unsteady thoughts would not settle on any more words. So he let them go and rested his head on the folds of robe on Qui-Gon's shoulder for the rest of the trip. Not thinking felt right for the moment.

Their transport stopped; their ship stood parked a short distance away under the darkening sky. When they emerged, their robes and hoods back in place, Zimpot stood conferring with the ship's crew. Behind them, the Republic guards unloaded Kremis, insensate and still strapped to the medical table which now rode on floaters.

Zimpot sent the pilot and the others up the passenger ramp and turned to them.

"Oh, take those things off," she snapped. "I'm not impressed and we're done here." She glared.

Qui-Gon lifted his hood off his head with a bemused attitude. He slid the robe off and hung it over his arm. Obi-Wan removed his hood and pushed the robe back, but left it on.

Her expression smug and satisfied, Zimpot appraised them.

"I'm glad you were sent. Kremis's lawyers demanded neutral intermediaries only as another stalling tactic. But they had to accept Jedi." She looked directly at Obi-Wan. "You have good aim. Very neat work. And I couldn't possibly have come up with a better commentary on this whole barbaric ritual."

"Kremis had allies to attack us. He clearly planned to escape," Qui-Gon stated.

"That wasn't a problem for you," Zimpot smirked before her expression hardened. "Of course he had allies among the Kraytor. That was in the background we gave you. But we didn't have any clear intelligence on exactly who his allies might be. And we had no idea how far they would go. Mostly because the Kraytor wouldn't admit that Kremis had any allies at all." She made a face. "After this it will be easier for him to get his pardon. Out of sympathy."

"That does not concern you," Qui-Gon observed.

"He's the Republic's problem now. Even if he gets his pardon, he'll still be handed over to the rehabilitators for the next few years at least. Evil as he is, Kremis preyed only on weak and easy targets; he won't be the hardest case they've ever dealt with."

Obi-Wan remembered Kremis's lean predatory look, how he seemed to have drawn strength from his imprisonment. Kremis would not be the rehabilitators' easiest case either.

"Your superiors are pleased," Zimpot said with satisfaction. "You've very well lived up to the Jedi reputation."

"As I shall be reporting to them," Qui-Gon told her.

"Too late. I already have. You can tell them when we get to Coruscant. We're going right into hyperspace as soon as we break orbit."

Qui-Gon looked a bit offended, but Zimpot just smirked and headed up the ramp. Her aides, arriving on a different transport, went after her. Looking a bit abused, Qui-Gon glanced toward Obi-Wan and they went up into the ship together. They followed the ambassador to the bridge. They stayed in the back until the ship's captain ordered them into hyperspace. The navigator kept glancing their way. Obi-Wan thought that this might have been the first time that any of the crew had seen their faces. They had stayed mostly to themselves on the trip to the Kraytor system.

They followed Zimpot out when she left. Their cabins were next to each other. Zimpot stopped at her door first.

"I'll be having third meal in a bit," she said as they passed. "I and my aides would be happy to have your company. If you're feeling up to it," she added with a nod toward Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon stopped and slowly faced her, his hands clasped before him, his robe still hanging over one arm.

"We would be pleased to dine with you. But I hope you will permit us to postpone that until fourth meal. We require some. . . . time."

Zimpot nodded. She did not ask what 'time' meant. "My cabin then, since it's a bit larger than yours. I'll look forward to it." She winked and disappeared, the door sliding shut behind her.

They went around a corner to their cabin. It was simple with separate sitting and sleeping areas. Both small. Qui-Gon tossed his robe on the low table in the sitting area. The irregular light of hyperspace flowed past the view port.

"How do you feel, Obi-Wan?"

"Better. But still conflicted." Obi-Wan looked at his Master critically. "You do not look conflicted, Master," he noted critically.

"No," he said. "The event is past." Qui-Gon sat down on the rounded sofa cushions in the cabin and leaned back, annoyingly at ease.

"And the conflict?"

"It remains. But we must move past it."

Deeply unsatisfied by his Master's renewed content, Obi-Wan hunched his shoulders under his robe. He stepped around the table and plopped down next to Qui-Gon.

"The witnesses and judges who came to view Palorus Kremis's punishment could not let go of their hatred," Obi-Wan stated. "I don't think they will be any more at peace, now that it has happened. And I understand why you were disturbed by this mission. Their desire for revenge can never be satisfied."

"Some of them were. An enormous weight was lifted from the hearts of some. They have found closure."

"I did not sense that at all," Obi-Wan replied, very surprised.

Qui-Gon smiled, putting his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders.

"You were a bit distracted."

Obi-Wan swallowed, feeling embarrassed.

"Is that how you let this conflict pass, knowing that some of Kremis's victims have found peace?"

"No."

Obi-Wan's blue-gray eyes looked up at his Master's face, waiting for the answer.

"I always remember that the Jedi way is to serve others. And that most of those we serve do not follow the Jedi way."

The words at first had no meaning for him. It was such an elementary Jedi saying, so basic that Obi-Wan did not recall ever not knowing it. It felt much different to him now, colored by painful experience. He nodded.

"Shall we meditate on it?" he asked.

Qui-Gon shrugged.

"I expect we will. Perhaps after we have dined with Ambassador Zimpot. After we have rested."

Obi-Wan smiled. The conflict and vengeance would pass. Later. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, leaning back into the cushions. Obi-Wan relaxed next to him and closed his eyes. It felt good to not think about it. For now.

**^^^^^ END ^^^^^ **

This story first posted on tf.n: 25-Nov-2008

**Disclaimer:** All characters and situations belong to George and Lucasfilm; I'm just playing in their sandbox.


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